


Blood Temperature

by Pale Rider (Boothros)



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:07:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9482177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boothros/pseuds/Pale%20Rider
Summary: People deal with the weather in different ways ...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aintyousomethin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintyousomethin/gifts).



> I decided to post this in chapters, needing feedback on how it was going then changed my mind and deleted not realising anyone had seen it never lone commented. aintyousomethin had and did, so I'll repost and gift it and the rest yet to be written, to them.

_You need a partner …_

Robbie Lewis had just made it to his desk before his unusually exuberant sergeant appeared placing a quality laden coffee in front of his nose.

“Wow, you’re on the ball this morning, good night was it?”

The nearly hidden smirk told Lewis more than he really wanted to know.

“Ah, like _that_ was it, sergeant?”

“A gentleman never tells, Sir,” replied Hathaway loftily.

“You had a date then I take it?” Lewis dutifully asked, dreading the answer all the same.

“I did, Sir,” Hathaway confirmed, quietly pleased with himself.

“Well that’s great, man! Tell me all about her then, what’s she like?”

Hathaway coloured slightly, his eyes suddenly flashing at Lewis with near defiance before he broke into a shy smile.

“It turns out that on this occasion, Sir, I actually _do_ prefer shoes and musicals.”

Robbie Lewis’ heart dropped like a stone.

“Well, nevertheless, lad, tell me all about _him_ then,” replied Lewis trying to sound happy for his friend.

As if mentally released from a set of iron manacles, James Hathaway let out a huge breath, fully relaxed and smilingly started to tell his boss about his new boyfriend.

“I met him through the band. He’s a music student and follows as many groups around as he can find the time for. His main instrument is piano and his thesis is on how ancient percussion instruments can still have an influence in modern music. By percussion instruments, I mean the ones that _you_ might think of as keyboards, Sir, harpsichords, clavichords, spinets …

“I wasn’t wanting his CV, lad, I wanted to know about _him_ such as what his name might be for example?”

“Oh, sorry! His name’s Chris, Chris Woodson.”

It wasn’t far off coming that the Civil Partnership Act would become reality and unbidden visions of Hathaway/Woodson invitations drizzled through Robbie’s mind like rotting confetti.

“He’s a student you said?”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m no cradle snatcher, Sir, he’s a _mature_ student. He’s actually older than me!”

If Robbie Lewis had needed any indicators for sick leave at that moment, Hathaway’s wholly unintentional double barrelled shot had truly hit its tender marks. Not only did Lewis feel the worse kind of would-be ‘cradle snatcher’, the fact that someone better _and_ older had come along and stolen away all that Robbie Lewis dreamed of was enough to make him blanche. He’d been surreptitiously trying to press his lovely sergeant into the arms of a host of young ladies all summer. The odd one or two may have created pleasant memories for James, but none of them were to become fixtures. Actions rather than words confirmed the inspector’s darkest thoughts. By dating a man, Sergeant James Hathaway seemed at last, ready to settle down.

July was becoming unbearable. The skies were constantly pregnant with storms that never broke. The heat was intolerable though there was little sun to tan skin or provide memorably carefree days. Lewis spent most of his time in an atrocious mood, cursing the temperature and humidity whilst others seemed to brush it off as an unexpected bonus. The only one who seemed completely obvious to the oppressive conditions was Hathaway. Breezing through cases and working all hours, yet still making witty comebacks and smart observations didn’t seem to tax him at all. With his pale skin, dark suits and constantly worn shades, he still reminded Lewis of a ghost amongst the living, but his moods were as sunny as the days were long and tedious.

Lewis had never really noticed Hathaway’s happier emotions. At thirty five years old, James Hathaway had become as resigned and stoical as anyone Robbie knew. It was a shame to see such a vibrant personality and stunning intellect held down by the omnipresent pressure that everyday life brought. The new relationship with ‘the mature student’ had seemingly relinquished Hathaway of his hangdog days and he was as open and welcoming to his peers as Lewis had ever seen him. This had been the release valve then much as Lewis had suspected. All James had needed to let his inner beauty burst into flower was someone who loved him, someone who knew and understood him, a life partner just as Robbie had suggested. The knowledge of being proved right gave Lewis no pleasure. The only thing it really _did_ give him was acid indigestion.

Robbie Lewis had rarely been bothered by fluorescent bulbs, never really noticing them much before. It was unfortunate therefore that on the one occasion that Hathaway approached him in the windowless copier room, he suddenly realised that the close weather and artificial lighting were bringing on a nasty headache.

“I was wondering, would you like to join Chris and myself for a curry tonight, Sir? I’d love you to meet him and him indeed you.”

“Have you finished that report yet, Sergeant?”

“Er, no not quite, was it urgent, I never realised, sorry, Sir.”

“Well perhaps try taking your head out of your arse and focussing on your job rather than your love life, Sergeant!”

Hathaway looked completely stunned for a moment before reddening to the tips of his ears.

“Oh! Yes, heck, of … of course, sorry, Sir, it’s just it _is_ our lunchtime but if the report’s urgent I’ll eat at my desk and get it finished as soon as, Sir.”

With that, Hathaway was gone and Lewis was left wondering what the hell he’d just done. James was the closest friend he’d ever had and with one cruelly waspish retort, he’d managed to send the man scurrying back to his bagman status of years long forgotten. Knowing a simple apology was nowhere near adequate, Lewis resigned himself to a desperately lonely afternoon with his own black thoughts for company. On refection, it was no more than he deserved.

“James, I’m so sorry, lad it’s the heat and the lights. I’ve got a migraine coming on, I never meant to snap at you, honestly.”

“Oh shit you need to go home then, Sir, I’ll drive you …”

“No it’s okay, James, I’ll be able to drive myself if I leave now and there’s really no hurry for that report.”

“I’m nearly done with it, Sir and I really _would_ prefer to drive you.”

“James, it’s fine. Finish the report and then get off yourself. It’s far too hot to be cooped up in an office and you were here at seven. Get home, take a cool shower and then have a nice evening with your young man.”

Lewis drove to the supermarket cursing himself. Work might be slack but there was no possible excuse for pulling a sickie under any circumstances. He stared around the shop completely uninspired before adding beer, milk and microwavable slops to his trolley. At home he showered, changed into lighter clothes and swallowed aspirins. Within an hour his head was feeling better though his heart was weighing heavy. A bleep alerted him to his phone and he looked at the message disbelievingly. As always, a small thrill ran through him at seeing a text from James which was rapidly replaced by the familiar sinking feeling on remembering that the man was now taken.

‘Just checking you’re ok Sir. I’ll can always pop by your place on my way home if you need me to, just ask – J.’

Lewis hardly had the energy to reply but James Hathaway was so damn kind and loyal even in the face of being treated so badly that it was truly humbling.

Lewis had no great wish to meet Hathaway’s new beau. The cracks had already begun to show. It was rare now for Hathaway to consider a post work drink and even rarer for him to actually show up for one. Lewis hadn’t seen the inside of James’ flat since the beginning of June, nor indeed, James his. Lewis couldn’t criticise his sergeant’s work, it was as exemplary as ever but so much was missing. As if by mutual agreement the sixth sense that the pair had shared was left untapped. The kindly text message that Sergeant Hathaway had sent to Inspector Lewis on the day he’d cried off with a migraine was the last intimate contact they’d really shared.

August brought a few well wrapped cases. The work was tedious however. Murderers seemed to be feeling the heat as much as Robbie Lewis who did little more than bring some serious assaults to court, untangle a complicated fraud and put some aged records permanently to bed. Sergeant Hathaway was still a constantly present precious resource, but the magic spark was gone from the partnership. Lewis constantly regretted the harsh words he’d spat at Hathaway. Though his sergeant was still implicitly polite and considerate, he was also cautious as a scalded cat, rarely, if ever, invading his Inspectors space as naturally as he once had.

Finally, one morning in early September, the heavens opened breaking the heat hanging over Oxford. For three days people complained about the constant rain but Robbie Lewis suddenly felt refreshed. It was about time the hiatus ended. His ridiculous crush on his young Sergeant had very nearly damaged their working relationship and loneliness was a poor excuse for such idiocy. It had been all too easy to read James’ warm heartedness for interest and Lewis cursed himself as every kind of fool for thinking that someone like James would even spare him a second glance. Eager to try and get their simple partnership back on track, Lewis tried to behave as normally as he ever had. Not that he had any idea what that really was.


	2. Chapter 2

James Hathaway stared round his flat in dismay. The place was an utter tip and he had no idea how to deal with it. He’d readily proclaim to being difficult to live with even though he’d had no experience of such a thing. Scholarship had bought his way into Cambridge and working every spare second had ensured that he’d kept a single room for all of his college years. There’d been no great discussion about Chris Woodson moving in to Hathaway’s flat. For all his maturity and means, Chris had still somehow bagged a room in halls which he chose to vacate during the summer. James Hathaway was far too polite to question the move, at first welcoming Chris’ gradually mounting possessions with open arms. It didn’t take long however for Hathaway to realise that he might have made a mistake. He had little idea how a man of Chris’ years had found himself living the life of a student half his own age. There was also obviously money from somewhere, though Chris showed little inclination to share much of it. It all somehow seemed rather improper to ask and James was satisfied to remain in rather unhappy ignorance.

Doing what he was told came perfectly naturally to James Hathaway. Doing what was suggested by those he respected also seemed like a good idea seeing as he had little notion of whatever might be best for himself. Robbie Lewis had said that he should find a partner. He’d done that. He now had a living, breathing fully formed person living within his own space and he wasn’t sure he liked it much. It wasn’t Chris’ fault of course. Chris was clever and popular and very well liked, but thinking about him made Hathaway feel suddenly cold. Their meeting had been warm as early dates often were, but the reality chilled his blood. Not least, his new relationship was affecting his working life. In the first instance, it was obvious that Inspector Lewis hated the idea that James was dating a man. Strictly speaking, that wasn’t really a professional matter, though his Inspector’s opinion meant everything to James Hathaway and the thought that Robbie Lewis had once again found him lacking left James bereft. As September once again drew rain, James shivered.

August had done little to tax CID. Cases had been closed but no real thought had been required and Hathaway’s brain had been largely left to its own devices. He hated those times, where his own imaginings had space to let themselves run riot. Give him a decent murder where he could completely shut out his emotions and concentrate purely on fact and he’d feel safe. The strange summer during which Robbie Lewis had tried to match-make him to any available female had been terrifying. It was obvious that Lewis had recognised his feelings and responded in the kindest way possible. The conversation in the pub garden had been the final straw and James cringed whenever he thought of it. He’d taken the advice and found the partner. It hadn’t been that hard with a few beers and a couple of tokes behind him. Chris was clever and sexy and funny. A bit of something filthy and illicit behind a church was all it had taken to snare the man. Hathaway had never had a problem attracting those he didn’t really want. It was pretty clear that Inspector Lewis must have been repelled when he’d realised James’ attraction, hence the well-meaning introductions. James had paid his respects to the young ladies as well he could knowing he would likely never see them again. Cutting his losses, he’d honed in on Chris and suddenly he had a partner. Just as Lewis had suggested.

~~~oOo~~~

The rules that James Hatchway lived by stayed in his head. The fact that he detested overfilled ashtrays, abandoned beer cans and an abundance of unwashed clothes littering every surface would remain unvoiced. It wasn’t after all Chris’ fault that James had pulled a night shift and felt cold. Hathaway had felt chilly since the onset of autumn. He put a lack of shared Café Lattes with his Inspector down to his slight drop in weight, but by god how he felt the cold.

He scooped up cans wincing when their stale remains slopped on his surfaces. He gathered laundry not caring who it belonged to and stuffed it into the machine. Knowing that he wouldn’t sleep until it was done, he ran a sink of water, added bleach and proceeded to mop his floors.

As almost expected, Chris didn’t materialise and Hathaway fell into a ridiculously long sleep. Waking to dawn light, he had no real idea what day he was facing. Fortunately, his Blackberry had held its charge informing him that it was Friday and he had two hours before he was required at headquarters. He briefly, sadly wondered where Chris was before rising to face his day. Chris Woodson had once exposed James Hathaway to how easy life could be if you didn’t really give a fuck. James would adore to be the man that could respond to such an offer. He couldn’t however. His normally lithe physique and limber limbs felt stiff with cold. It didn’t matter what season it was. It didn’t matter how good a bagman or even how promising a budding detective James was, Inspector Lewis had shown his dislike and disgust and James shivered once again


	3. Chapter 3

It had never been unusual for Hathaway to be the first person to arrive at the CID offices but he was finding it increasingly hard to be punctual. His carefree days of pleasing himself seemed a lifetime ago. He’d never really considered the implications of compromise and when he was truly honest with himself, it seemed that he was the one doing most of the compromising. Burning the candle at both ends wasn’t helping. He had ill memories of several nights when he had drunk just a _little_ too much wine, smoked a _few_ joints too many or just had _one_ too many shots. Living the party lifestyle helped to blot out the disgust he was starting to feel for himself, but it made early mornings unbearable.

The rain was continuous, making a mockery out of autumn. In a few short weeks, the frosts would arrive leaving Hathaway feeling colder still. He tried to ignore his furthering weight loss, but for some reason, he never seemed to have time for breakfast anymore. That Lewis suddenly seemed concerned about him struck Hathaway as criticism. When the concern appeared to be genuine, he suspected pity. Guessing that he’d failed in his governor’s eyes yet again, Hathaway slid into depression. He rarely did much for himself. He certainly never rowed or ran. Band practise used the last vestiges of energy that he possessed after putting in his working hours. Had it not been for a long standing performance date looming, he felt he would probably have quit the band already. Chris spent more time strumming Hathaway’s guitar than he did himself, a liberty which Hathaway secretly hated, but the gig had been booked for months and he couldn’t let the other guys down.

Work was becoming something of an escape. Lewis was making an obvious attempt to be pleasant, something that Hathaway felt particularly guilty about, but the atmosphere was at least, less strained than it had been. The fragile truce was almost smashed the morning that Hathaway stupidly left some flyers on his desk.

“Ah, you lot doing a concert then, James?” Lewis asked happily, taking a leaflet from the pile.

“Er, yeah we are, would you like to come?”

“Really, why that would be great, man, thanks!”

Suddenly realising what he’d offered, Hathaway desperately tried to backtrack.

“Actually, I don’t really know if it would be your thing, Sir, I’d hate you to be bored stiff for two hours.”

“Christ, James, it’s not as though I’ve never heard your lot before, is it? How many lifts did I used to give you from the church with that guitar of yours?”

“Yes … yes, I know but we haven’t really improved much since those days, in fact we’ve taken a bit of a new direction, gone a bit more highbrow. I really don’t think you’d enjoy it much, Sir.”

“Well excuse me for not being cultured enough for you, Sergeant! Perhaps I should just stay in with a mug of cocoa listening to me easy listening LP’s? Next time, remind me not to take such an interest!”

As Lewis stomped from the office, Hathaway’s skin flamed as he realised the deep offence he’d caused. He’d do anything in his power to avoid hurting his inspector and he felt uncomfortably hot knowing he’d done just that. It wasn’t terribly convenient leaving the office before lunchtime but as soon as he finished the report he was writing, he tore from the building, stopping at the deli Lewis favoured before returning to his own flat. Chris Woodson was working on scores at the table and Hathaway briefly stopped to kiss his cheek before starting to rifle through the kitchen cupboards.

“James what the fuck are you doing? I thought you were meant to be at work?”

“S’ok, it’s only a flying visit, I’m just looking for the gig tickets for next Friday. There are ten of them around here somewhere.”

“Well would you mind looking somewhere else, some of us have work to do even if you don’t!”

Hathaway raised his eyebrows but had neither the time nor inclination to start an argument. He’d never won one with Chris yet and now wasn’t the time to try. Finally finding the little bundle of tickets, he bolted from his flat without bothering to say goodbye. Fortunately, Lewis was deep in conversation when Hathaway got back to his desk and no comment was made about his absence.

As soon as Lewis was free, Hathaway approached him before his nerve gave out completely.

“I’m sorry, Sir, for earlier I mean. I certainly didn’t mean to insult you, it just kind of came out all wrong. Look I got you some lunch to further my apology and a ticket for the gig if you’ll still accept it? I’d love you to come, really I would, it was kind of you to show an interest, God knows not enough people do.”

Lewis could see that his sergeant was genuine and brushing his earlier irritation aside, he took the offered gifts with good grace.

"Well if you're sure I won't cramp your style too much, Seargent, then yes, I'll be there, thank you."

"Oh no, you could never do that, Sir and my apologies again."

Once upon a time, Hathaway would have given the world to have Lewis come and see him play. Once upon a time, he would have also liked to introduce his boss to his boyfriend. He wondered now how he’d ever had those thoughts. That Lewis would disapprove of Chris and be embarrassed by such a meeting was a certainty. That Robbie and Chris would come face to face on Friday night was a likelihood as Chris never missed out on the free drinks provided for the band. The thought of such an encounter left Hathaway cold.


	4. Chapter 4

Robbie Lewis was uncomfortably hot. He’d come in from the cold damp night to a newly heated hall and his winter clothing was making him steam. As he removed his outer garments, he covertly observed his Sergeant. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d seen Hathaway play in front of an audience though this was by far the biggest venue that Robbie had attended. James had seemingly enjoyed the previous crowds but appeared terrified by this one. Even from a distance, Lewis could see that Hathaway was all fingers and thumbs. The poor sod couldn’t have tripped over more wires and amplifiers if he’d been really trying. When he knocked his own guitar from its stand with little more than a muffled curse, Lewis could tell that the lad was nearly paralysed with nerves.

Lewis desperately tried to sink into the background until one of the crew testing the lighting rig unfortunately illuminated him straight into Hathaway’s line of sight. Bursting into smile, Hathaway barrelled towards him, seemingly forgetting his anxiety.

“Hello, you made it!”

“Yes, James, of course I did. You okay up there?”

“Oh, it’s all going to crap but it’ll be fine. Thanks _so_ much for being here.”

“Well I _did_ have a free ticket …”

“I’ll get you a beer in the interval. Better go, but thanks again, Sir.”

Lewis spent a pleasant hour listening to James’ familiar world music with contributions of jazz and medieval madrigals. He was a little disappointed that James seemed to be enduring the performance rather than losing himself in his music as he had so many times before. The heat from the old oil filled radiators was starting to make Lewis feel mellow and drowsy. He was brought back to sudden awareness as his sergeant bounced over to him at half time brandishing the gift of a pint.

About to offer his thanks and congratulations, Lewis was suddenly and rudely interrupted by a new voice.

“Bloody hell, James, don’t give up your day job! What the hell were you thinking, you were all over the place up there!”

“Er … yeah, you’re absolutely right, Chris, I made a right hash of it. I can’t really get my head around it tonight, somehow.”

“Your vocals were totally flat in the second piece and Terry was carrying you right through till the end!”

“It sounded fine to me.” Lewis uttered, disliking the man on sight.

“Well I’m glad the paying public aren’t too disappointed at least, but you’ll have to brush up for the second half, honestly, James.”

“Um, actually, Chris, this isn’t just a member of the public … erm, Sir, this is my… my friend, Chris Woodson, Chris this is my boss, Robert Lewis.”

Woodson suddenly forgot his criticisms and looked at Lewis in wonder.

“ _You’re_ Lewis?”

“I was the last time I looked.”

“Well I must admit, you’re nothing like I was expecting.”

Lewis simply raised his eyebrows in reply, not quite knowing if he was being insulted or not. Woodson put out his hand as if demanding it to be shaken and Lewis complied.

“I’ve heard rather a lot about you, Robbie Lewis.”  

Though the statement was spoken cordially enough, there was an edge to the voice that Lewis didn’t particularly care for. In his peripheral vision, he could see Hathaway hovering nervously and decided to keep his cool and play along for James’ sake if nothing else.

“Don’t mind if I smoke, do you old boy?”

With that, Woodson reached into his inside jacket and withdrew a ready rolled joint and though Lewis knew he was being tested, he let his face remain impassive.

Hathaway however turned purple and grabbing Woodson’s arm, made lots of noises about needing help backstage. Lewis was left alone with his beer until five minutes before the second half of the performance when Woodson returned to his side.

“So did you really enjoy the first half, Robbie or did you just say you did for James benefit?”

“No of course, I didn’t, I always like to listen to this lot play. I must say, I thought you were rather harsh on James if truth be told.”

“It’s what he needs though, Rob. James can be brilliant when he pulls his finger out, there’s no point me telling him he was great when he clearly wasn’t is there?”

“Well you might well know a bit more about music than me, but I still don’t think the middle of a gig was the kindest time to tell him.”

Woodson seemed a bit put out by the slight and pretending to catch someone’s eye, he made his excuses and moved away. Though Lewis was relieved to be left alone, he couldn’t really settle down to enjoy the music any more. Chris Woodson had obviously taken a disliking to him, Lewis certainly didn’t need to be a detective to deduce that much. As to why was anyone’s guess. He could see why James might be attracted. Woodson _was_ good looking and seemed to exude enough confidence for the both of them, but James was a gentle soul who rarely reacted well to criticism however constructive. Though Robbie’s view might be somewhat jaundiced, he doubted all was completely happy in James’ camp. The cold thought gave him little pleasure.

The second half was far better than the first and Lewis noted that Hathaway looked intensely relieved at the end of the show. He wandered over and offered to help with the clear up.

“Thanks, Rob but we’ve got it covered, thanks,” replied Woodson, cheerfully.

Aware that he’d been snubbed, Lewis shared a sad little smile with Hathaway before stepping out into the cold night.

“Hey James, a few of us are off to a club once you’re all packed up here. You fancy it?”

“Oh, God no, I’m totally knackered, wouldn’t you just prefer to come home with me, Chris?”

“It’s Friday, man and the night is young! You snooze you lose, James. I’ll try and be back before dawn, I promise. Perhaps we could get some breakfast together?”

“Yeah maybe.” Hathaway muttered non committedly. He cursed the fact that had he known Chris was going on elsewhere he might perhaps have been able to enjoy a quiet drink with Lewis. As he packed the last of his gear into the car, Woodson briefly kissed him goodbye and Hathaway returned to his freezing flat alone.  

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Hathaway knew that drinking alone was a bad idea but he desperately wanted a beer. There was enough wine and vodka in his flat to thoroughly mash his brain, but he felt completely depressed at the thought of touching either. He simply wanted to gently wind down after what had been a narrowly saved gig and the cold and empty flat wasn’t the ideal place in which to do it. He didn’t really regret missing out on clubbing, but refreshed from the wintry air, he craved company knowing he was hardly likely to sleep. Promising himself that he’d just have the one, he stowed his guitar, slammed his front door and made for his nearest pub.

Hathaway didn’t usually frequent public houses as a lone drinker. Half the fun of them was sharing a pint and his thoughts with someone he cared about. The Crown wasn’t a bad place, but not one he really considered a local. It was however, warm and welcoming and due to an extended licence, open till one o’clock. The reason for the extension soon became apparent as he observed some slightly worse for wear ladies dressed to the nines and was suddenly offered cake. The wedding reception that had hired the function room had gradually seeped out into the whole establishment and James was somehow welcomed along into the throng of the marital celebrations. Talking complete shit with the scantily clad and the formally dressed became effortless after a few drinks and gradually, James started to hum along to the tunes the DJ was playing. It wasn’t the sort of music he favoured, but he seemingly still knew all of the words which suddenly seemed to mean everything to him. The bride and groom looked so terribly happy together and James Hathaway felt envious of them. There must surely be nothing sadder than attending a complete strangers wedding reception alone, but it wasn’t Chris Woodson that Hathaway longed to be attending with, but Robbie Lewis.

As ‘Time Gentlemen Please’ was hailed, Hathaway kissed the cheeks and shook the hands of the ladies and gents that had become his best friends until the following morning when mutual amnesia would wipe away the acquaintanceships. Politely thanking the bar staff for their valiant efforts, Hathaway once again turned out into the cold.

~~~oOo~~~

Overnight, maintenance had altered the heating system to winter mode in the CID department. For once, sun was streaming through the windows and the office felt hot and stuffy as a result.

Lewis had no real reason to be at work on a Saturday morning, but he’d found himself with little else to do. He filed some papers which would help his Sergeant out more than himself, completed the details for his up and coming Health and Safely Review and was twiddling his thumbs by nine.

Having the sudden urge for a cuppa, Lewis looked around and of course, found Hathaway missing. The lad would probably slumber the day away, always being drained after a gig. No doubt he was snuggled up to that tosser of a boyfriend of his...

Not really ready to return to the quiet regularity of his own flat, Lewis ventured out for his morning tea. The unseasonable clemency had encouraged a few of the baristas to put their tables back out. Lewis selected a spot that made the most of the sun and placed his order. As usual, he tried to cover his boredom by attempting the crossword. Morse had tried countless times to convince a young Sergeant Lewis that battling with the great and the good of ‘The Times’ was tremendously character building. In all the years since, Lewis had bought the paper in fond reverence but had yet to work out a single clue. The Times still offered a decent sports section and just as Lewis was settling down to read, a rather muted ‘Hi, Rob,’ disturbed him. He instantly recognised the character behind the dark glasses.

“Hello, Mister Woodson, how are you and where’s James?”

“Oh he’ll be in bed if he’s got any sense. I sadly declined sleep and I’m just starting to pay for it. This coffee's just a quick pick me up to ensure I actually make my way home at all.”

“You’ve been out all night?”

“Yeah, it was all a bit slow at first until someone suggested the shots. I don’t really remember an awful lot after that.”

 Lewis ignored Woodson's posturing, childishly trying to belittle him with polite conversation.

“James told me you’re a student?”

“Yes, a mature one and proud of it!”

“Sorry, you’ll have to run that one past me. How does somebody of your age live as a student?”

“Very easily thank you very much! I attend a few lectures, write a few papers and then I simply party the night away, what’s not to get?”

“To what end?”

“I take it, Rob, you don’t _know_ who my father is?”

“No, I’ve really no idea!”

“My _father_ is Marcus Woodson. He conducts the Royal Philharmonic!”

“Oh. Good for him.”

“You’re not a music fan then, I take it?”

“All I really wanted to know was why a chap nearing his forties was still pratting about sponging off the state, I never claimed to be a classical music groupie. Why don’t you go and get yourself a job, man?” replied Lewis, irritably.

“I’ll forget I heard that, Rob, you obviously being a music Luddite and I’m hardly state funded! Look in the next two years, the principle pianist is retiring from the RPO and I fully intend getting the job. They’ll be auditions of course but let’s just say that if I _don’t_ get it, my father and I will be most displeased and heads will roll. In the meantime, it didn’t seem an altogether bad idea to complete the degree I started when I was eighteen. Doesn’t hurt to show a little willingness does it?”

“So it’s not what you know but who, you mean?”

“No point in having contacts if you can’t use them, Robbie old boy, but I _have_ been groomed for this position since I was four years old, so it’s not as if I’m not brilliant at what I do.”

“You’ll be moving to London then?”

“Eventually yes and then travelling all over the world. It’s not a bad gig the Royal Philharmonic.”

“Does James know all this?”

“Well it’s no secret, but James tends not to ask.”

“Would you want him to go with you?”

“That would be up to him. He could probably get work in the Big Smoke, but I’m really not thinking that far ahead, what’s the point? I’ve got my plan, it’s up to James whether or not he wants to fall in with it.”

“You’re not that serious about him then?”

“Oh come on, Robbie! James is sweet, but he’s _too_ serious for his own good. There are plenty more where he came from. I’m going places and I can’t afford to let the likes of James Hathaway stand in my way before I get there.”

“Well don’t you think you ought to tell him that?”

“Look, Rob, you’re obviously fond of the bloke, but I’m sure he doesn’t need you to hold his hand for him. He comes with me or he doesn’t, Christ that’s another two years away yet, it’s hardly something to concern myself with right this minute, is it?”

The waiter appeared and Woodson paid his bill. Seeing that his unwelcome counterpart was intending to leave, Lewis ordered himself another pot of tea.

“Well I’d best be off, Rob, face the music as it were.”

Woodson seemed amused by his own joke but Lewis simply stared back at him dispassionately.

“Tell you what, old man, when I’m travelling the circuit, I’ll send you a ticket to a real concert, teach you a bit about how music _should_ be played, eh?”

“Yeah, you do that.” Lewis replied tartly.

Once he was left alone, Lewis looked at his fresh brew with dislike. Woodson obviously didn’t have the slightest clue what he had in James Hathaway. The glimmer of warmth had gone out of the day for Lewis and as he called for his own bill, he shivered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
